Embrace the Crime
by artemisbear
Summary: It's a Thursday morning, Will Graham goes to his work as every day. He is a Special Agent for the FBI. But on this day, he learns that he will have to solve every crime from now on with someone, "to control the potential madness", as his boss Jack Crawford says. It turns out that Will's new co-worker is a certain British detective : Sherlock Holmes...
1. Chapter 1

_Embrace the Crime_, a story written by artemisbear

CHAPTER 1

Will Graham woke up on that morning at 6:07 am, which is earlier than usual, but he didn't wake up all sweaty or scared because of one of his nightmares. He actually didn't remember any dream. It felt for him like the beginning of a good day. He stood up and heard some noise coming from the kitchen, downstairs. Nervous as he always can get, he ran there. It wasn't a big kitchen, Will didn't need one as he lived alone, well, almost alone. The kitchen was all grey, just like the rest of Graham's house, which was a kind of reminder that life hadn't always been bright to its owner. When he entered that room, he saw the source of all of that noise: his dogs. Over the years, Will Graham had rescued many lost dogs and took them to his house. These animals were the only cheerful element in this kingdom of grey. Winston, Will's newest companion, jumped on him as soon as he felt his saviour's presence.

"Oh, hey, Winston! I see someone had a good night of sleep. What about you, ehm, everyone? I think you had a calm night as you are all making a morning storm!, said Graham, smiling"

After feeding his dogs and getting prepared, Will Graham went to the FBI, where he was a special agent. Actually he wasn't supposed to be still an agent on the field. He had a special gift, an empathy disorder that could make Will feel like any murderer in order to understand him or her and the crime to catch the criminal. The problem was that if Will Graham got too close to a crime or a murderer, he began to have nightmares and hallucinations; he could maybe even murder someone. A few years before, he had to stop going on the field because he couldn't carry on anymore and became a teacher for future special agents of the FBI. Will thought he'd never have to face any murder again, he didn't want to think about any case anymore until two months ago, when Jack Crawford, his boss, proposed him to try again. At first Graham refused, he didn't want to risk another collapse into madness. However, the temptation was too strong and after a few days of hesitation, Graham was back on the field.

Will Graham arrived at the FBI station somewhere in Virginia. He met Special Agent Beverly Katz, a friend of his. She had always supported him and was very interested in Graham's personality, which included of course his disorder. She was wearing, as always, dark jeans, some comfortable jeans and her chemist blouse. She had long black hair and a long face on which there were two brown eyes always trying to analyse and understand everything on whatever she was looking at. Graham didn't know much about her life, but that didn't bother him.

"Hello, Will, said Beverly, Jack wants to talk to you about some business."  
"What kind of business? Is there any new murder?, replied Will with some anxiety"  
"None that I know of, hurry before he gets impatient."

A few minutes later, Will Graham stood in Crawford's office, waiting for him to come in. He didn't have an idea of what could be the reason of his presence in this room. Did he solve a murder wrongly? Did he send an innocent to prison? Was Jack unsatisfied with his work? Did he want Will to work as a teacher again? So many questions were on Graham's mind at the same time and he couldn't handle to wait anymore. Suddenly Jack Crawford, a tall dark skinned man came in with another man who Will had never seen before. The stranger was tall as well, taller than Jack, and was wearing only black clothes, including a long coat and a rather looking expensive scarf. He was very pale and had black curly hair. He seemed to analyse everything with his cold blue eyes, which reminded Will of Beverly Katz's habits. Death seemed to surround his person, he was probably a Special Agent, or a smart twisted psychopath.

"Good morning, Will Graham. I'm sorry you had to wait for me. I present you Sherlock Holmes. He is an English detective but he will work in the United States for a while., declared Crawford staring at Will." Then he turned towards Sherlock Holmes and said "Mr. Holmes, this is the man I told you of, Special Agent Will Graham."

"Will Graham… Single man, living alone, loves dogs, you are very unsociable and have quite a high level of arrogance. You are tortured by a fear, fear of, yes, madness, easily guessed by the constant nervous shaking of the hands and the look on the face, recited Holmes very quickly with his deep voice"

"Jack, did you tell Mr. Holmes my entire biography before coming in? Is it why you have come late?"

Will Graham was quite surprised that Jack Crawford could tell so much about him to a stranger, as if he couldn't have any private life. He felt quite angry but didn't want to make it obvious.

"Well, actually, replied Jack in a surprised tone, all I said is that you were a special Special Agent for the FBI. Will, you have just had a free demonstration of Mr. Holmes' talent. He can guess an entire lifetime story of anyone out of basically anything on you and out of your behaviour. That is why we asked him to work with us for a while. And Will, continued Jack with a more serious expression on his face, he is the reason why I asked you to come here. You and Sherlock Holmes will work together on every case that appears. It isn't that we doubt of your abilities, Will, but maybe if you don't solve it all on your own, you will have less trouble with your gift. It is for you good to control the potential madness. I won't let the same happen to you. Will, don't look offended, I'm doing it because I am concerned."

"So, you hire an English detective to babysit me? I thought I couldn't fall any lower, assured Will, bitter."

"Trust me, I am not very pleased by this project either. I never asked to work with anyone. There is only one person I can work with and…, Sherlock's voice broke"

Will Graham looked again at Jack, with a how-could-you-do-this-to-me look and walked away. He refused to believe that Crawford thought he wasn't strong enough to be on the field again. He felt almost betrayed by him and refused to work with this pretentious Holmes. He decided to have a coffee at the cafeteria in order to try to calm down. But apparently, his new colleague had the same idea and sat next to Will Graham.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**Hiii! So, this is the 2****nd**** chapter of my fanfiction and it will be a bit longer than the first. Thank you for reading it if you do and please don't forget to review, give me suggestions or just an opinion about the plot or anything. ****:)**

* * *

"Hello, Will. Hopefully, you won't mind if I don't call you Mr. Graham, said Sherlock Holmes as he sat next to his new colleague."

"Of course not. It will make Jack happy, it will seem that we are finally getting along, Sherlock."

Will had a big ironical smile on his face and his eyes shined with arrogance and feeling of superiority. Sherlock didn't know how to react with him, he was so special. He'd never met that kind of man before and he wanted to know him more; to see the real Will Graham.

"So, declared the English detective after a while, aside being a lonely dog man who frames criminals, what are your hobbies?"

Will laughed nervously "To be honest with you, this is pretty much all my life is about. The only thing you haven't deduced from me was that I loved fishing. I am a good fisherman."

"I was expecting you to tell me that you were playing some pointless game; like football or Mario Bros… Now I don't have any rude sarcastic comment to make, great!"

"Well now you'll be able to finally be rude about something that needs to be rude about: yourself."

"You know what, Will, I guess working with you isn't going to be so dreadful after all… No, I'm joking."

"I began to expect the worse, like, becoming friends with you." Graham looked into Sherlock Holmes' cold blue eyes and noticed something he hadn't seen before: a kind of interest. But not the interest of a person wanting to know another, it was more a sort of scientific interest. Will felt like a new species of a certain monkey discovered an hour ago.

Jack Crawford came into the cafeteria and at the moment he saw Sherlock and Will, he walked swiftly to them.

"It's good to find you two together, because I want to speak to you both, of course. A young woman was found murdered in her college and we think it's the Chesapeake Ripper who did it. Mr. Holmes, I hope you have read the rapport I gave you earlier. Let's leave, now."

In the car, on the way to the scene of the crime, nobody said a word. Sherlock kept giving little stares at Will while he was looking through the window, "enjoying the countryside to avoid an eye contact with me", as Sherlock thought.

When they arrived to the library, where the body was found, a Special Agent ran to them.

"Good morning, Jack Crawford, Will Graham and… Sherlock Holmes, I assume. The victim's named Amanda Goode and she is – well was – twenty-one. She had been studying medicine for almost three years and her friends describe her as a friendly person who wouldn't be the kind to make enemies or get in trouble. However, she had no family left, which made of her a perfect potential victim. With the elements found on her, we seriously think that the Ripper made this. An organ has been removed from the body: the lungs to be precise. But, follow me to judge by yourself."

Further, in the medicine part of the library, a lifeless body was found hung on a shelf with the help of a dozens of nails. She had a shape of a star, but her chest was open and the inside of her body could be seen. A book on the organs opened on a page showing the lungs took place where this organ should've been. Amanda Goode had her eyes wide open and a huge emotion of fear could be read all over her face.

"It definitely is the Chesapeake Ripper who did this, concluded Will from what he had seen, you can feel the presence of the need to make of every murder a theatrical performance. She is the _star_ of this library, books are a so big part of her that are literally a part of her here. She is one more character added to the Ripper's piece of theatre. He, if we admit it's a man, he removed her lungs while she was still alive and the huge blood loss caused her death. She died of mutilation."

"Nonsense, replied Sherlock Holmes, if you tried to be less poetic and more rational, you'd notice marks of strangulation on her neck. The lungs were removed after Amanda Goode died."

Will seemed very annoyed by this pretentious Holmes' comments. Sherlock hadn't seen the others bodies like he did. He wasn't haunted by the Ripper's murders. He didn't get to feel like him.

"Sherlock, you don't see what I see. There was a strangulation like you mentioned, but it was just to catch her and to control her moves. Instead of catching her by the arm or the shoulder, he did it with the neck. Because for the Chesapeake Ripper, the victims are no better than pigs. We are all inferior to him, so why should he treat us with respect and dignity?"

"You are interpreting too much, doggy man. It could be almost seen as suspect."

"Are you accusing me to be the Ripper? Because if I were, you'd be better off running and hiding because you are the perfect next victim. Anyway can we go back to what matters? The Ripper is a genuine psychopath, he is smart, he is curious, he is testing us like animals. You are deducing, I am interpreting the evidence. Our methods are different and all quite successful, but in this case mine is more reliable because I feel the Ripper, I somehow know why and how he did every single thing you have before your suspecting eyes."

"Perfect, now I am incapable of doing my own job! You know what? I'm totally done. I was getting bored anyway." Sherlock left with a serious look on his face.

"Jack, called Will, you see it is totally useless to make me work with someone. I cannot cooperate because what I feel is sometimes unexplainable."

"You have to understand that it is essential for your mental health to do half of the job, at least for now. Will, look at me, I know it's hard and you don't especially enjoy it, but please, trust me, responded Jack with a huge tone of concern in his serious voice."

* * *

Sherlock was waiting in the car, furious. He didn't like it when someone couldn't trust his deductions. They were always right, or an element was missing. But it was never 'wrong' the much Will Graham accused it to be. He was truly offended but he had to keep going on this mission. His brother wanted him to have some distance with London, especially since what happened last month.

Yet, even after this outrageous accusation Will made, the detective couldn't help but admire his stubbornness and his assurance in what he thought. Sherlock realised that they were more similar than he wanted to admit. Will's arrogance challenged him and made him want to play that Special Agent's game. Of course, Holmes would win it. Sherlock had a tiny smile on his face at the thought of him and Will Graham playing Cluedo. Suddenly a door of the car opened, Sherlock looked in its direction and saw a rather sorry facial version of Will Graham.

"Sherlock, he began awkwardly, I am sorry for what happened in the library. I shouldn't have denied your theory as if it were some nonsense said by a three years old. It was coherent with what we could observe and there will be an autopsy anyway so I made sure we would be the first to know the results. As you probably may have noticed by now, I am not confident in social courses and sometimes I wish I was friendlier but this is who I am, who I have always been so I am sorry that you'll have to get used to the unsociable bear I am. I think you and I could make a great team, added Will with an amused half smile, we just must deal with each other's strong personalities. It will take time, but there is hope. That was probably, no surely, my worst apology speech ever but know that it was honest. Sorry again."

Sherlock Holmes laughed, but it wasn't a mocking laugh. It was a warm, welcoming one that reassured Will on the quality of his apology.

"I admit I was a bit harsh at times with you, too, replied Holmes calmly, and I promise I will try to behave myself better. You aren't like everyone. Surprisingly, you annoy me less than others would."

"You know what, Sherlock, I guess working with you isn't going to be so dreadful after all."

Will Graham and Sherlock Holmes both smiled.

"Do you want to eat something? I know a pretty good restaurant near here, continued the Special Agent, they make the best hamburgers in the world."

"Let's go before Jack shows up." Sherlock winked at Will.

In that moment, Will knew that the best friendship or the worst loss was going to happen.

**Don't forget to review. Yes, I'm repeating myself but anyway haha, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.**


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

**HIIII! I know it's been a while, but I had a lot to study for school (ugh). But here is chapter three! Hope you enjoy it. xo **

"Two days after Amanda Goode's murder, the autopsy is finally released: the young woman died of mutilation. As always, the Chesapeake Ripper took an organ of the victim while he or she was still alive. However, the FBI still hasn't found any clue that could lead to the criminal. Be really careful when you are out of your home at night, especially if you live in the state of Virginia. Now, the weather…"

Sherlock Holmes was listening to the radio and felt a little bit annoyed to hear that the autopsy was released on the radio. He wasn't over his false theory yet and could not believe he'd made such a huge mistake. "Welcome to America", thought the English detective to himself. Though he smiled when he remembered Will's little satisfied half-smile when it was announced he was right. Holmes felt as if there was some kind of sick competition between the two of them like "who would solve the crime first and better". But he didn't care, solving crime was an alternative for him of getting high. He knew that as long as there would be murderers and crimes, he would be whole, he would have a reason to be. Sherlock felt really bored, so he decided to read the rapport on the Chesapeake Ripper again to make sure the next time, and there surely would be one, he wouldn't make such a foolish error. A few minutes later, his phone was ringing.

"Hello, whoever you are, I hope you have a good reason to call me because I was in the middle of an important reflection." He said as he picked up without looking at the number.

"Good morning to you too, Sherlock." It was a rather serious Will Graham speaking. "I hope that this important reflection can be done later. A murder was committed and we need your awesome brain so bring it here. I'll text you the address. Bye." Will ended the call without waiting on Sherlock's reply. He knew that Sherlock couldn't refuse such thing, even if the last time he came, he was humiliated.

* * *

A half an hour later, Sherlock Holmes arrived on the scene of the crime. It was a white little house in the middle of a huge forest. Although it was 10 am, the huge trees made shadows and it created an atmosphere of a dark cold night. The air was cold, there was a fresh smell of a lot of kinds of plants which was quite enjoyable. Sherlock recognised them all, as he once wrote on his blog an article on plants and their smell. At the memory of an element of his past life, he felt a pain in his heart and tried to chase away some awfully bad memories. He entered the small house and found five Special Agents in a room that looked strangely bigger than the house did. The walls once grey were covered in blood that seemed "to come from different bodies", as Sherlock deducted. There wasn't much furniture: two old black chairs, one couch and a table on which was lying a lifeless body.

"A woman, thirty-two years old, married but had a secret lover, explains the ring that surely fell of her open bag" Sherlock didn't hear Will greeting him as he was deducing about the victim.

"Well I see someone is quite busy. Her name is Nichole Jackson, in case you haven't deduced yet. Her husband found her body two hours ago, but it wasn't the only one."

"The second one is probably a man, her secret lover. I bet the husband killed them both out of jealousy. Case solved." Sherlock was walking away, followed by Will, from the room to enter the kitchen where there was a man lying on his back, eyes wide open.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes, said Jack Crawford, this looks like a much easier case than the Ripper's one, doesn't it? What do you deduce?"

"This place was known only by the husband and the wife, declared Will at the moment Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, this man was an intruder into this sacred house. The married couple surely did live some magical moments in here and this was _theirs_."

"But the woman clearly didn't feel the magic anymore, so it became her and her lover's place. The husband discovers them both here and murders them, concluded Sherlock."

"The hypothesis seems coherent, affirmed Jack Crawford after thinking for a minute or two. The husband, Henry Jackson, did seem a bit suspicious. Yet, the weapon that killed Nichole Jackson and Gregory Simpson is nowhere to be found. It was a sharp kitchen knife, but you surely already know it. The point is that… without it, we can't be really sure of anything."

"Obvious, it wasn't a cold blooded murder. You will find it somewhere in the forest really close to the house." Sherlock and Will recited these same words together, as some kind of song that children sing before Christmas break. They stared at each other, feeling surprised but at the same time knowing this would happen more often than they wished.

"Fine, I'm sending two men looking for it. Great job." Jack seemed really satisfied of this astonishing coincidence, because it proved his point that Will could work with the English detective.

Will Graham and Sherlock Holmes were alone in the tiny kitchen, well almost, there was still the body of Simpson on the bloody floor which made the whole situation even more awkward for both of them. Will was observing his new colleague carefully, he wanted to know every detail of him, from his dark messy hair to his black clean shoes. He wanted to understand Sherlock's soul, just like the mind of a serial killer; that mysterious detective attracted every bit of Will's curiosity and interest. The Special Agent felt around Sherlock in a way he'd never felt before: he finally knew how it was to be observed, he knew how the people, the scenes of crime felt when he stared at them. He wondered what Sherlock was thinking about him, what kind of information he was deducing about Will Graham, though he already knew the principal about "doggy man". They remained in this position of observation for at least an hour and none of them said a word until Jack came back with an even more satisfied look on his face than he'd had when he left.

"You were both right about the knife, we sent it to the lab for an analysis and took Henry Jackson to the station and take his deposition once again. Though we had some kind of half confession when Jackson saw the weapon. I think, gentlemen, you've just solved your first crime together. See, Will, it isn't so horribly insurmountable after all. I have to go. Goodbye."

The two men still didn't say anything after Jack Crawford left. After another few minutes of silence, Will Graham felt it was time to break it, yet not to leave the detective.

"As I think we're done for today, would you like to come to my place for lunch? You could meet my dogs."

"Why not, I have nothing else planned anyway. Let's go." Sherlock didn't seem that much enthusiast over the invitation. Will was confused; one day Sherlock was friendly, the day after he acted as if he hated Graham.

* * *

When Will and Sherlock arrived at the Agent's home, at least six dogs ran towards them and moved happily their tails to their master. Sherlock couldn't believe that a man who seemed to enjoy loneliness so much like Will could have such a lot of dogs. Then he understood: these animals were Will Graham's stability and happiness. They were what maintained him to feel emotions, as long as he had something to care about, he wouldn't become what he tried to understand. The vulnerable side of Will provoked a sentiment of sympathy in Sherlock, feeling he hadn't felt in years. But he refused to make a new friend, he couldn't afford to feel again. He knew what happened to the people he cared about. For the second time of the day, he had to chase away from his mind some bad memories he never wanted yet to completely forget, to always remind him that he can't have friends. Both of them walked in the kitchen and Sherlock sat at the table while Will prepared some food. After he finished making his meal, he walked towards Sherlock, quite awkwardly.

"I'm warning you, Sherlock Holmes, I am not such a good cooker."

"Then, why inviting me if it weren't to show off your culinary talents?" Sherlock had a malicious smile.

"I guess I just wanted to 'celebrate' our first case solved together, and also, as hard as it is for me to admit it, I want to know you more than I do." Will was slightly blushing, which surprised Sherlock more than the content of his sentence. Will Graham wanted to know him? After showing hostility and reject to Sherlock. He wasn't outraged or anything because he was rooting to know more Will too. He actually felt relieved to know the feeling was mutual.

"Fine. What delicious meal are we eating?"

"Pasta with vegetables… Don't look at me that way! I told you I'm a bad cook."

Will was very amused by this situation, a few days ago, he couldn't stand this pretentious English and now he wanted to know everything about him. "Human nature is the most and quickest changeable matter in the universe." Will was thinking while eating the pasta.

Afterwards, Will proposed Sherlock to fish together but this last one replied that he wasn't psychologically ready yet, though he'd like to another time. That was actually an excuse, Sherlock wanted to spend the rest of his day with Will, but he knew it was his duty not to become fond of his "doggy man".

* * *

When he came to his small, messy flat, Sherlock made himself a tea and sat on his armchair, a place where he always sat when he needed to think. He tried to figure out why, of all the places in the world, his brother Mycroft Holmes had sent him here to continue with his life, at least for a while. He had a tough, sad past in London and wasn't ready at all to go back there. Sherlock Holmes spent the rest of his evening working on the rapport on the Chesapeake Ripper. He had the presentiment that he and Will could find the murderer, but only if they learn to know each other by heart. Therefore, the criminal could enjoy of his freedom for a little while.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or anything of the Hannibal world. Please follow/favourite the story if you like it and don't forget to review, comment, give a suggestion or just express yourself about the story. Thank you!**


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

The next morning, Will Graham woke up in a sweat, he had nightmares again. It hadn't happened for a long time and he thought he would never have to face those disturbingly scary mental images again. Will dreamt of the dark forest in which he had walked the day before, though it was darker than in reality. He felt a huge pressure on his chest and a close danger. Suddenly, Sherlock Holmes appeared out of nowhere and was standing next to Will. The English's blue eyes showed an expression of intense fear, it was as if they were both about to die. Then, a deer, the animal that often appeared in Will Graham's worst nightmares, ran quite swiftly and stopped in front of him. The animal kept staring at the Special Agent and a feeling of anxiety and uncomfortableness kept growing in him. Finally, a knife materialised in Will Graham's hand and he stabbed without hesitating Sherlock Holmes in the heart. The most disturbing part of the nightmare to Will when he thought about it again was the fact that he laughed and seemed happy seeing the detective die in front of him.

After taking his breakfast, Will Graham decided that he wouldn't go to work directly, he would first visit Sherlock. He didn't really have a reason to, but he kind of felt guilty about what happened in his mind while he was sleeping and maybe that seeing Sherlock Holmes alive and safe would calm the culpability he'd felt since he woke up against his will. He _needed _to see Sherlock as if his life depended on it. Will couldn't really understand his overreaction over a nightmare, he just didn't want it to ruin the friendly relationship he and Sherlock had begun to build over the last days.

* * *

He got in his car and drove the quickest he could to Sherlock Holmes' apartment. Luckily for him, he had a great memory and memorised Sherlock's address when he once had a quick glance at the detective's file at the FBI. Will Graham knocked at the door, once, twice, waited a bit, knocked again, but no one answered. "Maybe he left earlier this morning." thought Will, "I came here without warning him and without knowing his habits but was expecting him to be here and open that door… I don't even know why I'm here. That nightmare must have really shocked me." But Will didn't leave, he stayed in front of the unopened door with the hope that Sherlock could still be in there. The Special Agent knocked a last time, just to be sure, when finally he heard steps coming from the flat and the door opening. Sherlock had just woken up, he was still in his grey pyjamas and his hair was messier than usual. He was yawning and his eyes were half-closed. Will Graham couldn't help but feel sorry that he woke Sherlock but at the same time he couldn't know the English man was sleeping.

"Hello, Will" Sherlock could barely pronounce the words with his little sleepy voice, "I hope you are enjoying what you are making me endure, and the awesome view, too."

Will smiled mechanically, "I must admit that I may be enjoying seeing you suffer." Then, he remembered his nightmare and his smile vanished. "May I come in?"

"Sure, Will, it is not as if I were in my pyjamas or something."

Will was standing in the living room and observed the space around him: he was quite surprised that his colleague was a messy person. It seemed like the flat hadn't been cleaned for months, there was dust on every piece of furniture giving the place an ancient horrific aspect. A strong smell of tea and new books invaded the entire room but a tiny smell of cigarettes also appeared at some points. The whole space was quite grey, monotone and sad. It occurred to Will that their habitations were actually similar. Every day, he found more points in common between him and the English detective.

"Like soulmates…" Will's thought came out loud followed by a little nervous smile.

"What were you saying?" Sherlock didn't want to believe he heard the quite embarrassing word he thought he had heard.

"Nothing, I was thinking too loud, louder than I should have, obviously." Will felt really ashamed because he didn't want Sherlock to have false ideas about Will's intentions.

"So… May I know the reason of your early visit?"

"I guess I just wanted to drive you to work. I am not sure myself."

"Well, give me some time to get ready. Take a seat. No, not the armchair. Good."

About twenty minutes later, the two men were sitting in Will's car driving to the FBI offices. They both hadn't said much since earlier in Sherlock's flat but they didn't have anything to talk about either. Both of them had secrets to hide and didn't want to reveal much about themselves but at the same time, they were rooting to know better the other one. Sherlock and Will were lost into their thoughts and pasts instead of focusing on what was there and at that moment.

As they arrived into the office, Jack Crawford walked towards them. "Good morning gentlemen, I hope you are doing fine. A new man came into our team, if I shall use that term. He is a psychiatrist named Hannibal Lecter and I would like to introduce you to him, if you don't mind."

"Let's meet the one who is stealing attention from me." declared Sherlock, obviously smiling.

A few steps away stood a tall man. He wore an elegant suit and seemed inoffensive at the first sight but after a closer observation, signs of strength could be seen. He was in his fifties and had his hair really short cut. He didn't seem to be American, thing that was confirmed as he began to speak: he had a European accent. The way he talked was at times kind of poetic, mysterious. He liked to make references of God, good and evil.

"I am quite pleased to meet both of you. I was said that you brilliantly solved crimes. I am sure that someday we may work together, but let's not hope for a crime, shall we? However I have a better idea, come tonight at my house for dinner. You are invited as well Jack, of course." Hannibal Lecter seemed friendlier than Will thought he would be.

"We accept your invitation with honour, Doctor Lecter, don't we?" Jack replied. "I just wanted to tell  
you, Will and Mr. Holmes: Henry Jackson's trial will be in a week but I am pretty sure that he will be sent to prison for the rest of his life. Good job, again." He tapped on Sherlock's shoulder, then Will's. Then he left with Hannibal Lecter to discuss about what seemed to be an important matter.

"Well, I feel like we are going to have some free time today. What shall we do?" stated Sherlock

"We?" replied Will, surprised.

"What is so surprising? With who else will I stay here? I don't know all of these people well and I am not the kind to socialise a lot."

"We could say hello to Beverly. I haven't seen her in days. I don't think you've met her, have you?"

"I have not."

"So let's go."

Beverly Katz was doing an autopsy on an old woman stabbed five times on the abdomen. She didn't notice Sherlock and Will as they entered the room because the corpse had all of her attention. Her brown eyes, always so observatory had a so deep look they could have actually looked under the skin of the woman.

"I hope we are not disturbing, Beverly." Will had a tone of real affection to Beverly in his voice that always seemed so emotionless.

"Will!" Beverly smiled. "I thought you had replaced me with that tall dark man standing next to you." She winked at Sherlock.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, might me quicker for you to say" Sherlock seemed upset for a mysterious reason.

"Did you know" Will continued "that the FBI is lucky to have a new psychiatrist working for it?"

"I did not. Is he handsome at least?"

"Well, I fear we are not the most qualified to give you that information." said Sherlock.

"I thought your deducing super powers included beauty and attractiveness." declared Will with a grin of satisfaction.

The three investigators laughed and talked for another few minutes. Beverly has even forgotten about the lying body behind her. A Special Agent came into the room and informed Will Graham and Sherlock Holmes that they were expected on a crime scene. Will left in a rush but Sherlock stayed a bit longer and stared at Beverly.

"Is there something wrong about me?" inquired Beverly while having a seducing smile on her face.

"Nothing." justified Sherlock himself "it is just that you remind me of a friend of mine who is in London, where I used to work. Molly Hooper." Sherlock sighed nostalgically and lost himself into a daydream of his past, which always ended up hurting him when he remembered the reason why he left England in the first place. Finally, Sherlock Holmes spoke again "it was a pleasure meeting you, Beverly Katz, but I am waited somewhere else. We shall meet again soon. Goodbye."

What Sherlock managed to hide from Beverly's eyes were the tears that began to flow from his eyes. He put his scarf on and walked slowly, but surely to wherever that new mystery waits him.

**That was the fourth chapter! I know nothing much really happens, but I'm preparing the field for the following. I hope you enjoyed it anyway, and if you really did, favourite/follow my story. Also don't forget to leave a review, suggestion or just a comment in the box below. Thank you for reading it! **


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

"This is the Chesapeake Ripper's ninth victim" Jack Crawford screamed these words the loudest he could, as he was deeply angry, frustrated and unsatisfied. He looked at the corpse, then at Sherlock Holmes and Will Graham and finally at the corpse again. The scene he had before his eyes was mortifying.

It was a man, Richard Jacobs, who was lying partly under the ground when the FBI agents arrived on the crime scene. There was a tree that had some kind of hole in him that was made by a human, the cuts being too perfectly made. Jacobs' entire body was buried there but his head and left arm were exposed to the outside. The eyes were removed from the head and put on the left hand of the victim. In the eyeballs were positioned two grey extremely polished rocks. The naked body was removed from the cavity now, a huge hole in the body was made: the kidney was removed. On the contrary to the previous victim, Amanda Goode, Jacobs' face seemed totally emotionless, as if he weren't surprised of his death. However the lack of emotion could be explained by the fact the face didn't have eyes anymore.

"Well, this time it is obvious the man died of mutilation. He was a lonely person who had been divorced for at least five – no six – years. But let's focus on the murder. From his nails and hands you can see that he fought the murderer before dying; how tragically glorious. There is grass in his hair also so the battle must have been on the ground, mostly. Do you agree with me, Will?" Sherlock was hoping that this time his colleague and he would agree about the Chesapeake's work.

"I don't know how you deduced about his divorce and loneliness but I guess you're right. Of course, he died of mutilation and there is a precise organisation into the exposition of the body. There is a parallel structure between the hole in the tree and the missing eyes, as well as the hole in the corpse. The Chesapeake Ripper had some kind of 'friendly' reminder to transmit: everything in the nature is in the end more similar than we want to be. He wanted to show that eyes or polished rocks can fit into eyeballs because both are the progenitors of Mother Nature. Though, there is something totally different in how he showed us the body, it is precise as I said, yet less tidy. The Ripper was more primitive, savage. Almost on the level of his pigs." Will Graham recited these words as if he had killed Richard Jacobs, which was a bit scary. His look was lost somewhere between the corpse and some other place of his own. Sherlock admired this faculty Will had to be here and not at the same time. He knew that this gift was poisoned, he felt that if the Special Agent could, he would get rid of it.

"Mr. Crawford," said Sherlock "has your team found any clue that could lighten us a bit about the identity of the Ripper? All we do is find bodies, analyse how the murders are done which is a good start, don't get me wrong, but what is more interesting is information that would lead us right to his door."

"All we know is that he has surgical skills, so he was or is a surgeon, that he is probably a man or an incredibly strong woman because these murders require strength and that he always takes trophies; organs. However, we don't know what he does with them. He is really smart, leaves no clue behind him but the ones he wants to leave."

"He also loves art" spoke Will Graham, still between two worlds. "I don't think we will catch him with this crime, though this evolvement in his action shows either a weakness, either a stronger organisation. Let's hope for the first possibility. I am curious of what will be found on Richard Jacobs in the lab."

"Fine, if you say so Will. You and Mr. Holmes have done your job here, so I will see you tonight for the dinner at Hannibal Lecter's place. Goodbye"

"Goodbye" exclaimed together Will and Sherlock.

* * *

Sherlock left Will as well, saying he needed to be alone to think about the new case as an excuse. That was partly true, but the main reason was that he grew too fond of his workmate, more than he intended to. He took a cab to drive him home and while he was staring out of the window, his phone rang. Sherlock sighed, annoyed, when he saw who was calling him.

"Hello, brother" said the voice in the phone. "I hope you are having a pleasant time in America."

"Mycroft. It would be a lie if I said I am happy to talk to you." Sherlock laughed and added "I hope you are enjoying to see me in this situation."

"It is not completely true; you know that sending you there was the only option I had left to keep you alive. I could not lose you, England will need you again someday, I am sure."

"I don't think so. What was the reason of your call?"

"Believe it or not, I just wanted to know how you were doing. But you are talking with your lovely voice so I know you are fine. Excuse me, Sherlock, I have to go. Some important matter."

"Don't apologise. Good-bye."

Sherlock knew that Mycroft had something important to tell him but didn't for some reason. He had to call him again later to know what that call was really about. However, he couldn't think too much about it for now, he wanted to focus his entire mind on the Chesapeake Ripper. Never in his life had he met such a complicated case. That serial killer was really smart, "too smart" thought Sherlock, he made absolutely no mistakes. No matter how many deductions, possibilities and theories the detective's brain produced, none of them really led him anywhere precise. It was too blurry to distinguish the Ripper's identity. Sherlock Holmes decided to stop thinking about that for a while, all it gave him was headaches and frustration. So his attention went to Hannibal Lecter, that mysterious psychiatrist. Of course, Sherlock deduced a few things about him like the fact that he was single and that he loved cooking or his taste in classical music but the detective couldn't really grasp his personality. The English man expected a lot from the dinner that would take place in a few hours. He wanted to discover who that Doctor Lecter was, he also hoped that the bad feeling he had about that psychiatrist isn't serious.

Finally, the taxi arrived in front of the building Sherlock lived in. The detective paid the driver and walked towards the door. Suddenly he perceived a shadow following him, he decided to act as if he didn't saw it and continued walking. He walked past the building and decided to look back. The shadow had disappeared. Sherlock was really disappointed that he couldn't have caught whoever was tracking him, but as he walked back to his building, something heavy hit his head. He fainted almost immediately, falling on his stomach.

* * *

Later, Sherlock woke up in his couch. How did he get in here? He had a gigantic headache, added to a bruise on his face. After huge efforts, he managed to get up and look in the apartment if something was stolen; or is something was dropped, which would be a more interesting alternative. He didn't find anything but as he sat in his armchair, he noticed that there was a letter in the left pocket of his coat. He opened it.

"Expensive paper, elegant handwriting but not feminine, used an old plume. The person who wrote me this is either rich, either passionate with the old fashions, or both." deduced Sherlock Holmes.

The message said this:

_Dear Sherlock Holmes,_

_I know exactly what you have done and why you had to leave London. _

And it was all. There was no further explanation. But it was more than enough for Sherlock; someone knew his deepest secret and could use it at any moment against him. He realised that he wasn't as safe in Virginia as he thought he would be. The worst was that he had absolutely no idea of who could have sent this to him. He had made many enemies throughout the years but most of them were either in prison, either dead, not in the USA. Maybe, it was a new enemy Sherlock Holmes had no idea of until this day. What he was sure of is that the shadow was not the same person who wrote the letter.

The English detective looked at the clock and realised that he was almost late for Hannibal Lecter's dinner. He wouldn't want to miss this dinner for anything in the world, so he hurried up; he took a shower, dressed up and brushed his teeth in less than twenty minutes. Then he called a taxi again, missing the good old London taxis he used to always take.

* * *

Thankfully, Will thought to text him the address of the house, telling him also to hurry. Apparently, Hannibal Lecter found Sherlock's attitude "quite rude." The concerned party did not care at all, he didn't ask for some stranger to hit him with a heavy object.

Sometime later, Sherlock Homes knocked on Hannibal Lecter's door. The psychiatrist opened, looking impatient but pleased his third guest finally arrived.

"We were waiting for you to begin. Luckily, the dishes are still warm. But please, do come in."

**I finally have a more precise idea of where I want to go with this ahah. Thank you for reading my story! If you like it, don't forget to follow/favourite it. Also, you can post a comment or a review (I won't bite.) x**


End file.
